


Hear Me, Now See Me As I Am

by MagicalDragon



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety Attacks, Enjolras-centric, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Misgendering, Trans Enjolras, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3183962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalDragon/pseuds/MagicalDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras struggles, but he won't let that hold him back. Whether it's the anxiety that makes public speaking harrowing or the dysphoria he hides from his friends – it won't stop him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hear Me, Now See Me As I Am

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to her_madjesty for beta-ing!
> 
> Warning for a description of an anxiety attack as well as some misgendering, see tags.

Enjolras is shaking when he leaves the stage. All the sound around him, the applause, the introduction of the next speaker, Courfeyrac asking him something: it’s all just noise. He can’t distinguish anything. His breathes are coming quick, ragged. 

It had gone well. He knew it had. There could be made improvements, but he knew it had been good. Why was he feeling like this? Why is he like this? He clenches his fists, nails digging into his palm, giving him something concrete to focus on. 

Then Combeferre is leading him out of the auditorium, her hand firm and comforting on his back. He vaguely registers Courfeyrac trailing behind them, asking something. Combeferre silences her with a look. 

They’re out of the auditorium now and breathing suddenly becomes easier. The noise from the crowd is muffled, the wall between the auditorium and the hallway protecting him from the flood of sound. Combeferre seats him down against the wall. 

“Breath,” she says, looking at him through bespectacled eyes. “Slowly: In… out….” She instructs, sitting down next to him with an arm around his shoulder. He tries to do as she says, but not before pressing himself against her in a much closer hug than he would normally give. Her arms come up protectively around him. “In… Out…” She continues. Courfeyracs hand is petting his hair, his stupid, long, pretty hair, and she’s whispering something but Enjolras can’t hear it. 

When the shaking finally stops, he detaches himself from Combeferre, his expression exhausted. His friends settle down on either side of him, taking a hand each. “It was a good speech,” Combeferre says, as if nothing had happened. “You were great!” Courfeyrac adds.

Others would have asked why he speaks publicly if it makes him feel like that; he’s glad they don’t. Perhaps they already know the answer: he wants to be heard, whatever the consequences. 

 

He’s standing in front of the mirror. The hair has to go, he decides. No one will take you seriously with hair like that, a treacherous voice says. He has been listening to that one too much lately. But it’s true, isn’t it? What guy has hair like his? Even if it’s a gay guy, hair like this… Getting people to take him seriously will be hard enough already. He doesn’t have to make it harder for himself. It has to go. 

But then, he really does love his hair… 

He looks himself over. Why did he have to be born this feminine? At least his breasts aren’t that big. They’re easy to hide in a sports bra covered by baggy clothes. Some people aren’t that lucky. 

Still, the hair has to go. His mother won’t like this.

 

Neither, it turns out, does Courfeyrac. She mourns his hair the day he shows up for school with a generic short cut, his hair so short that you almost can’t tell it’s curly anymore. Courfeyrac asks him how he could do it, and he doesn’t answer directly. He redirects the conversation the way he is so good at with people he’s comfortable around, and Combeferre gives him a curious look. Enjolras doesn’t meet it. 

“Can’t imagine your mom was pleased,” Combeferre noted. 

“She wasn’t,” he says. “I did it behind her back,” he admits. 

“And behind mine!” Courfeyrac exclaims. “I may not always see eye to eye with your mom, but on this we agree!” she says solemnly and nods.  
Enjolras sighs. “So I’d gathered.”

“Your beautiful hair was the envy of everyone who had ever seen it,” Courfeyrac says dreamily. “Beautiful Enjolras, with her beautiful hair…”

“You talk as if it’ll never grow out,” Combeferre says just before Enjolras exclaims:

“Give it a rest, would you?!”

Courfeyrac looks at him, her eyes big. She didn’t mean to make it harder. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know because he’s a coward. It wasn’t her fault. It’s because he’s a coward. 

“Sorry,” he says just as Courfeyrac does. None of them mentions the hair again.

 

The next speech goes better. Or the aftermath does, at least – there was nothing wrong with the other one, really, apart from the anxiety attack. He doesn’t have one this time. Perhaps it’s because his friends are on the stage with him, Combeferre helping him when he stumbles on a word, Courfeyrac adding some humor. 

He’s speaking about inequality, of course. He mentions misogyny, both in the school and in general and he wonders if how he is perceived is helpful for his credibility. He mentions racism; Combeferre and Courfeyrac on either side of him are probably giving him the credibility he lacks when they add their own comments. He mentions poverty. He knows he has no credibility in this regard, neither real nor perceived, nor can he loan any from his friends. He talks about it anyway. Finally, he encourages their fellow students to join the committee Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac has formed. 

“We work against inequality in every form,” he says, voice confident and loud. “We will not stand by and see it happen. We want to affect change in the world and I hope you do too,” he takes a breath, “Thank you for listening,” and walks off the stage. 

He can hear the next speaker for assembly being introduced this time. A group offering help with homework to other students. His heart is beating fast, but he isn’t trembling, the world isn’t too much all at once. He is fine. His friends are next to him. They both look at him questioningly. He gives them a rare smile. He was heard and he is fine.

 

He’s happy to see new faces at the next committee meeting. He admits to himself that he is a bit surprised. They haven’t had a lot of luck gaining new members. That speech must really have been convincing. 

When they start talking about LGBTQ rights, he is less happy about the new members. He makes a small introduction, meant to get a discussion started on what they as a group can do, but not long into it, he’s interrupted. 

“You’re straight, aren’t you?” One of the new guys, Grantaire, says with annoyance. “Why are you talking about this?” 

Enjolras stops talking immediately. He freezes. He has no idea what to do. He’s not straight, obviously. It’s not surprising Grantaire would think so though. Enjolras had a boyfriend last year – not that that lasted long. He doesn’t have time for that. And dysphoria didn’t help matters – and he had never given any indication that he was interested in girls. Likely because he isn’t. Still, making assumptions about others like that… 

He’s not straight, but he is exclusively attracted to guys. He can’t tell that to Grantaire, or any of the others.

“You shouldn’t assume what identities other people have,” he says sharply. It’s not an answer, but it’s something. 

“If you want to speak on a topic, you are free to prepare something for next time or wait just 2 minutes until I am done with this and the discussion begins,” he continues. “If you’re merely here to interrupt, you’re very welcome to leave.”

And so Grantaire does. 

Enjolras is taking deep breaths. He feels like shit. 

 

“You didn’t have to yell at him,” Combeferre says later. All three of them are at in Courfeyrac’s room. Enjolras prefers to spend as little time at home as possible when his parents are home, so they usually go to Courfeyrac’s to study after school, though they almost always get sidetracked. 

“Who?” Enjolras say even though he knows full well. He doesn’t look up from his book. Algebra suddenly seems very interesting. 

Combeferre gives him his look, the kind of look Enjolras can feel even when can’t see it. Enjolras sighs.

“I didn't yell," he says. "And he had no right to interrupt like that." It feels like a weak excuse.

“That’s just Grantaire,” Courfeyrac says dismissively. Courf knows this Grantaire well enough to say that? “He doesn’t mean any harm, he’s a good guy.”

“Maybe he was right,” Combeferre says and Enjolras’ stomach turns nervously. “Maybe you should let me or Courf or one of the others do the introductions for subjects like LGBTQ rights.” He pauses. 

Enjolras is still looking down on his book, but his eyes aren’t moving. His shoulders are tense. 

“Or is there something you’d like to tell us?” Combeferre says softly. Enjolras tenses more. He looks up, but he doesn’t meet Combeferre’s eyes.

Courfeyrac, who had seemed confused, breaks into a big smile. “Oooh, is Enjy going to tell us about her girl crush!” 

She’s so genuinely cheerful it break Enjolras’ heart. He looks from on to the other, Courfeyrac with her big, eager smile, ready to give him love advice he’d never take and Combeferre… Combeferre who is frowning. Combeferre who know that’s not it. 

He tries not to cry. 

“I don’t have a crush, Courfeyrac,” he says. He tries to keep his voice normal. He doesn’t succeed. 

Courfeyrac isn’t smiling anymore. 

“Then…” she looks from Enjolras to Combeferre. “What… is this about?”

He stands up. It’s time. He can’t hide anymore. 

“I’m a guy,” he says and it feels great to hear it out loud. It doesn’t matter that his hands are shaking. “I’m trans, and I’m a guy and I’m gay,” he says fast. “Okay?”  
As soon as he’s out to them, he forgets why he was afraid to be. 

 

“Do you have a binder?” Combeferre asks the day after he came out.

He doesn’t. “I use sports bras, mostly,” he says. And a bit after: “I do want a binder, though.”

As soon as he says that, Combeferre tells him what companies are the most reliable. She admits to having researched binding all night. She asks if Enjolras knows how to do so without hurting oneself, and when she isn’t satisfied with his vague answer, she starts lecturing him on how to bind safely and the consequences of doing it wrong. Then she offers to buy one for him, since he wants one. He laughs and declines.

“You can help me choose one, though,” he says. 

 

A couple of days later, Courfeyrac realises what the deal with his hair was. 

“You didn’t have to cut it for other people’s sake!” She says. “It’s your hair, right? If it’s on you, it’s guy hair, no matter what it’s like!” 

He smiles. Maybe he’ll let it grow out all the way again.

 

He starts wearing more masculine clothes. He wore neutral, baggy clothes before, but now when his friends know, he starts wearing actual men’s clothes. He wants to scoff at the whole idea of gendered clothes, but wearing something made specifically for men makes him feel better. He’s still too feminine too pass, but it’s something. 

He meets Grantaire in the hallway the third day after he started wearing men’s clothes. Grantaire looks as if he’s about to say something biting, but then he stops. He looks at Enjolras, his hair and his clothes, then he shakes his head.

“I’m an idiot,” he says.

Grantaire was the first person he didn’t have to tell. 

 

Next time Enjolras holds a speech, the whole school knows. He refers to himself as a guy in his speech, where he in the past would have avoided any gendered language. Anxiety is still swirling inside of him as he talks and when he gets down from the stage, he needs a while to return to normal, but he doesn’t have an anxiety attack. That’s a victory in itself. 

Being out gets him many comments, but it gets him as many correct pronouns, so he’s content with his choice to not shy away from it anymore. He’s Enjolras: he wants to be heard, he wants to be seen for who he is, and he wants to change the world. Damn the consequences.


End file.
